


Grapes of Wrath Can Only Sweeten Your Wine

by ThirtySixSaveFiles



Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attempted Murder, M/M, Marriage, Strangulation, Violence, false identities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-24 07:43:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 13,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7499847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirtySixSaveFiles/pseuds/ThirtySixSaveFiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a story about Jack Lawrence and Rhys Oliver. This is a story about love and death, about loyalty and betrayal. This is a story about who you are when you run out of options.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story absolutely wouldn't exist without [ledgem](http://ledgem.tumblr.com), who took a ridiculous idea and outlined the bulk of this fic for me as I screamed at her over chat. It also wouldn't exist without [jillus](http://jillus.tumblr.com) who held my hand while I cried over how long this fricking thing was getting and was kind enough to beta read it as the final chapters came together. Thank you both so much for helping me get this out into the world.
> 
> Thanks also to [callmearcturus](http://callmearcturus.tumblr.com) and [scootsaboot](http://scootsaboot.tumblr.com) for letting me borrow Rhys' last name(s).
> 
> This fic will be posted serially every night starting June 15th, 2016, until it's finished.

This is a story about Jack Lawrence.

Jack Lawrence, CEO and President of Hyperion corporation, one of the top weapons manufacturers in the world. Known for his terrifying management style, outrageous personal life, and seemingly endless string of one-night stands, Jack had made tabloid headlines with his whirlwind courtship of and marriage to one Rhys Oliver.

Rhys Oliver, an unknown young man with an unremarkable past, with an easy smile and an awkward charm. Capturing Jack’s attention wasn’t the hard part, but keeping it was - and those close to Jack marveled at how effortlessly the two seemed to fit together, as if they had known each other for years, not months.

“I really never thought Jack was the marrying type,” Ms. Nisha Kadam was overheard to say, “But damn if he didn’t pick a good one to get hitched to.”

This is a story about Jack Lawrence and Rhys Oliver. This is a story about love and death, about loyalty and betrayal. This is a story about who you are when you run out of options.


	2. Rhys

It’s normal - expected, even - to feel nervous on your wedding day, but Rhys thinks he can be forgiven for feeling extra jittery, given what’s at stake here.

Rhys adjusts his tuxedo in the mirror, then turns and pastes on a smile for Fiona. “How do I look?”

Fiona smiles back, but it doesn’t look entirely genuine. “You look like you’re about to get married.” She looks like she wants to say something else, and Rhys’ own smile drops.

“What is it? Have you heard any-”

Fiona cuts him off. “No, there’s no news. I would have told you if there was.” She hesitates again, then moves closer and lowers her voice, even though they’re the only ones in the room. “It’s not too late to back out of this. We can find another way.”

“No, we can’t.” Rhys’ voice sounds harsh, even to his own ears. “We’re doing this.  _ I’m _ doing this. It’s a job just like any other-” Fiona raises her eyebrows at that, but Rhys plows ahead “-and when it’s done Vaughn and Sasha will be safe and we’ll all disappear.”

Fiona doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t argue, either. Instead she leans forward to adjust Rhys’ tie. “Then I guess you’re all set.”

They both look up at the door when it opens, and Rhys relaxes when he sees it’s just Yvette.

“Are you two ready yet? They’re about to start.”

“Yeah, we’re done here.” Rhys squeezes Fiona’s hand and strides toward the door. “Come on, let’s do this.”

Rhys has had lots of practice pretending to be at ease when he isn’t, even if he’s never taken it  _ quite _ this far before. So he sails through the ceremony with flying colors, smiling and tearing up in all the right places, and he comes out on the other side as Mr. Rhys Lawrence.

He figures the least he can do for Jack is take his name. It’s not like “Oliver” is Rhys’ real last name anyway.

If he just keeps thinking about what’s important, he can do this.


	3. Jack

Jack wakes up to the sound of the surf crashing outside their room, the day already warm and breezy, and rolls over to drape himself across Rhys’ back. Rhys makes a sleepy sound of interest as Jack nuzzles the back of his neck, and then a louder one as Jack bites down.

Jack reaches across Rhys to the lube on the nightstand, ignoring Rhys’ “oof” as Jack’s full weight bears down on him. When he reaches down between Rhys’ cheeks Jack’s fingers slip in easily - they had been up  _ very _ late last night, so late that it was technically early morning when they had done this last.

It’s just so  _ easy _ to get caught up in Rhys - even now, only half awake, Rhys is shifting his legs wider and pushing back into Jack’s hands, and when Jack replaces his fingers with his dick Rhys moans, loud and unashamed as Jack presses into him. It was so easy to get addicted to these noises, the little sounds Rhys makes as Jack works his way into him. Rhys has his eyes screwed shut and his hand clenched in the pillow, mouth open as Jack bottoms out.

Rhys’ right arm is across the room, charging. Rhys’ easy confidence with the thing  - as well as its complex articulation - had been one of the things that initially drew Jack to Rhys; not many people chose that kind of visibly robotic prosthetic in the first place, and even fewer wore it with the self-confidence that Rhys did. When Rhys had shown Jack that he knew his way around the insides of it as well as the outside, Jack knew that he was halfway in love already.

(Jack is still lobbying for Rhys to let Hyperion build him a new one. Rhys’ arm is pretty good, but Jack knows his engineers can do better. And Jack likes the idea of putting his stamp on Rhys where everyone can see it.)

Right now, though, having the arm in its charging cradle and Rhys’ sleepy state means it’s easy to move him the way Jack wants him, so Jack can thrust slow and easy into him and savor each hitched breath and drawn-out sigh. Jack can feel himself getting close but he wants Rhys to come first, so he gets a hand on Rhys’ dick and strokes, and as Rhys’ body tightens around his Jack comes in slow, rolling waves, like the surf outside.

Jack stills against Rhys, breathing heavily, resting his forehead in Rhys’ sleep-tousled hair. Rhys shifts, and Jack’s softening cock slips out as Rhys turns to face him.

“Hey, handsome,” Rhys says, leaning in for a kiss. His lips are soft, and the kiss is slow, languid, like they’ve got nothing but time.

“Hey, husband,” Jack says when Rhys pulls back, and Rhys smiles. Something about it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but that might just be the way the morning sunlights is breaking over the window now, making it hard to see.

Rhys has been a little quieter than usual lately, but a little pre-wedding anxiety is perfectly normal, especially for the kind of society wedding Jack - or rather, his wedding planner - had pulled off. With the ceremony and the reception behind them, and nothing but surf, sun, and sex in their immediate future, Jack is pretty sure he can untangle whatever’s wrapped itself around Rhys’ spine over the last week.

He’s already doing a pretty good job, he thinks smugly to himself as Rhys molds himself to Jack’s front. It’s still pretty early, and as Jack rolls Rhys onto his back and sets his mouth against Rhys’ neck, he thinks that they’ve got time for round two before breakfast.

They’ve got all the time in the world, really.


	4. Rhys

Rhys had been unsurprised to learn that Jack had never been much of an outdoorsman. His house - although really the term  _ estate _ was more accurate - looked out on the what seemed like endless acres, but when he wasn't at the office Jack spent most of his time in his study, flipping through reports or shouting on the phone. (And now, cornering Rhys for a kiss - or more - when Rhys isn’t paying attention.)

That was okay, though. Rhys Oliver liked to hike, so it wasn’t too out of character to suggest a day trip along the Green River Rapids. Jack had agreed readily enough when Rhys showed him the shorts he planned on wearing.

And it meant that Jack was unfamiliar with the trail ratings, which made Rhys’ job easier.

They’re about a mile in when Jack catches him by the shoulder and pins him up against a tree, murmuring against his lips. “That ass in those shorts is driving me crazy, babe. You, me, and this tree, right now, how about it?”

Jack is pressing up against him all warm and demanding, and he’s even fishing a little bottle of lube out of his pocket because  _ of course _ he brought one with him. This is  _ not _ part of the plan, but Jack’s lips are soft on his and Rhys figures he can let himself have this.

Especially since it will be the last time.

It’s not incredibly comfortable. Tree bark is digging into Rhys’ back with every thrust of Jack’s hips, and they’re not so well hidden from the trail that they couldn’t be seen or at least heard if other hikers came along. It’s still good, though; Jack is fucking him with enthusiasm, and by now he knows all the right moves to have Rhys arching into him, trying to get closer, trying to get  _ more _ . Rhys wraps his arms around Jack’s shoulders and kisses him desperately, as Jack thrusts into him like he’s trying to get inside Rhys’ skin.

After, Jack is loose-limbed and relaxed, and more than willing to take an ambling look over the edge when the trail reaches a particularly high precipice over the river. He peers down at the whitewater below them and whistles, eyebrows raised.

“It’s one thing to see it on film, but quite another in person, yeah?” He turns back to Rhys with an easy grin. “I sure wouldn’t want to be down there.”

Rhys feels like his breath has stalled in his chest.

He fists one hand in Jack’s shirt, stepping in close, and wraps the other hand around Jack’s arm. He kisses Jack quickly, just once. He feels Jack start to grin against his lips and say “What was that f-”

Rhys shoves him as hard as he can over the edge.

There’s a moment where Jack hangs in the air, face morphing into shocked surprise, and he seems to reach out for Rhys, but Rhys has already taken two quick steps back, out of reach, and then Jack is gone.

There’s a horrible, brief crashing down the steep slope, and then a splash that’s quickly swallowed by the roar of the river.

Then there’s nothing.

It takes several seconds for the natural sounds of the forest to filter back in through the soundless ringing in Rhys’ ears, and he lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

It’s done. He’s fulfilled his part of the deal. Sasha and Vaughn will be safe.

He just wishes he didn’t feel like his insides have turned to acid.

He inches cautiously to the edge of the trail, peering over the ledge. There’s no sign of Jack, and that’s - that’s good. That’s the plan.

Rhys moves back toward safety and checks his cell phone. No service, and he had made sure the satellite phone was in Jack’s pack. Good. He can plausibly not call for help.

Rhys turns and starts to make his way back down the trail. As soon as he can, he breaks into a run. He has to be out of breath when he makes it back to the park ranger station, or if he encounters someone else on the trail, and he’s going to have to turn on the waterworks-

Rhys feels something on his cheek and automatically brings his hand up to wipe it away.

Huh. Looks like he’s already crying.


	5. Jack

Jack surfaces near a low place on the riverbank, heaving and gasping for breath.

He only gets part way out of the river before he has to stop and cough up what feels like gallons of water from his lungs. He gags and spits, but the river is still tugging at his feet, so he half-crawls, half drags himself all the way up on to the bank.

His lungs and his face feel like they’re on fire. The last few minutes are a jumbled blur, but he remembers being dragged along by the current and rebounding face-first off an outcropping in the water. He had nearly blacked out, but it may have been what saved his life, as he was spun away from the deepest parts of the river and into shallower waters.

The last few minutes are a blur, but Jack remembers with excruciating clarity the look on Rhys’ face as he-

No. Jack can’t think about that right now. Survival first.

He wipes a hand over his face and it comes away red. Scalp wounds always bleed like a bitch, but this feels like it’s on his  _ face.  _ He’s lucky he didn’t lose an eye.

He’s lucky to be alive at all, given that Rhys had _shoved_ -

Not now.

He had shrugged off the backpack as soon as he hit the water - it had been years since survival training, but those lessons had been drilled into him _ \-  _ but he sees it now bobbing in the current, swinging toward the river’s edge. It takes a lot of willpower to get back in the water to drag it out, but Jack is still riding high on adrenaline and fear and  _ disbelief _ and he makes himself do it.

When he’s safely back on solid ground, he digs through the pockets for the one thing that might save him, that might get him out of this. Jack lets out a short laugh of relief as he pulls the satellite phone out of an inside pocket, and if it sounds slightly hysterical as it echoes through the trees he thinks he can be forgiven. He’s had a rough day.

The phone is military grade, which means it’ll take more than a little bath and a few bangs against the rocks for it to stop working. Jack nevertheless holds his breath as he powers it on and only lets it out when the screen lights up and indicates a solid connection. He starts to dial emergency services, gets as far as 9 and 1 before he stops.

His brain’s probably not firing on all cylinders right now, but if Rhys really had - if Rhys had really tried -

Maybe it’s better if he stays dead. Just for a little while.

He clears the screen and dials a number that’s not in his contacts, one he memorized years ago, and when the other end picks up he lets out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

“This had better be good,” says the woman on the other end.

“Athena. It’s Jack,” he says, voice hoarse from coughing up river water. “I’m calling in my favor.”

There’s silence on the line, and Jack wonders for a panicked second if the connection had dropped.

“Okay,” comes the reply, eventually,  _ finally _ , and Jack feels the relief spread through his body like a physical thing. “Where are you? What do you need?”

“I’m on the banks of the goddamn Green River, I need you to get me the hell out of here, and I need you to do it quietly.” A flare of pain in his face reminds him, “and I probably need medical attention.”

“I can do that part if you want to keep things quiet,” Athena says. “I’m on my way. Send me the coordinates,” and she hangs up, because Athena has never been much for small talk.

That’s okay. Jack doesn’t have much patience for it himself, even at the best of times, and this is - this is not the best of times. He probably has a first-aid kit in his pack, Rhys likes to be prepared like that -

Jack looks down at the pack next to him, that Rhys had bought for him, that Rhys had  _ packed _ for him, that Rhys had -

Jack gets up and throws the pack back into the river as far as he can, which is not very far given that his whole body has started to shake. It makes an unsatisfyingly small splash and is gone in seconds.

Jack collapses back down to the ground. He’ll tell Athena the phone was in a zipped pants pocket or something. She’ll either believe him or she won’t, and Jack doesn’t care which one it is.

Jack sits on the edge of the river for what seems like a long time, waiting.


	6. Rhys

They never find a body, which initially makes Rhys uneasy - underneath the ever present, nauseating repetition of _what have you done_ in the back of his mind - but days pass and the search and rescue teams still come up with nothing.

That part of the river was swift and deep, the park ranger had told him. (Rhys knew that; that’s why he’d picked it.) They might never find anything.

Jack’s brother Timothy flies in, and the first time Rhys sees him he has to sit down and put his head between his knees. Rhys had known they were twins, knew they were identical, but he was still unprepared to see Jack’s face looking back at him again. Tim is apologetic, empathetic even in his grief, and after the initial shock has passed Rhys can see clearly the differences: the way Tim holds himself and the way he speaks are all more self-contained than Jack’s expansive personality had been.

There will be a memorial service to see to, of course. Rhys is surprised to find that Jack had already had arrangements put in place; all that’s left for Rhys to do is sign off the paperwork and notify the appropriate parties. He finds that he doesn’t even have to work to summon tears when people ask how he’s holding up - all he has to do is think of Jack’s weight against his hands as he had _pushed_.

And then there’s Jack’s daughter.

Angel shuts herself in Jack’s room and doesn’t come out, even to eat. Rhys wants to give her space, but on the second day he lets himself in quietly. The room is dark, which is fine - he’s not sure he can bear to look her in the face right now - but he can see well enough to see her curled up on Jack’s side of the bed, hugging his pillow.

Rhys sits next to her and puts a hand on her shoulder. She shudders, and then she’s shoving the pillow away and throwing her arms around Rhys’ neck, molding herself to his side. She’s crying silently, and Rhys realizes that he is too as he wraps his arms around her, rocking her back and forth in the dark of her dead father’s room.

* * *

The days roll into one another, and somehow life continues. Angel takes a leave of absence from school. Timothy offers to stick around for a while, and Rhys takes him up on it gratefully, even if Tim’s face is just one more reminder of what he’s done.

Rhys has thrown away the clothes he was wearing that day, but he finds himself dressing in creams and blues, colors Jack liked on him. He puts on a sweater Jack always liked to run his hands over and stares at himself in the mirror for a good half an hour. He’s not sure who’s looking back. He worries at the wedding band on his left hand: twisting it, pulling it off, putting it back on. It feels like a heavy weight on his hand, but his finger feels naked when he tries taking it off. He can’t decide which is worse.

Less than a week after Jack’s death, Rhys receives a text message from an unknown number.

_Good job - I like your style. Payment’s been wired. V & S are on their way to F. _

Rhys stares at it for several minutes. This is what he’s been waiting on, this is what it was all _for_ , but he just feels empty inside. Numb.

A few minutes later Rhys’ phone lights up with an incoming call from Yvette.

“We’ve got them,” she says without preamble. “Now will you get the hell out of there?”

Rhys winces, even as relief spreads through his stomach. “I - I can’t leave yet. It’d be suspicious.”

“Screw suspicious,” Yvette hisses at him. “We’ve got our people. Vallory got what she wanted. It’s time to disappear, Rhys - isn’t that what you said at the beginning?”

He had said that. “I know, but - it’s complicated.”

“Let me uncomplicate it for you.” Yvette’s tone is hard, and Rhys closes his eyes. “You can’t live as Rhys Lawrence forever. Your documentation wasn’t meant for long-term cover, and sooner or later you’re going to get made _._ Stage a car crash, say you’re running off to join the circus, disappear in the middle of the night, I don’t care - just _get out_.”

Rhys knows she’s right, but - “I can’t leave Angel yet. She’s already lost one father.”

“You’re not her father, Rhys.” Yvette’s tone gentles, but Rhys still feels like he’s been suckerpunched. “The longer you drag this out the worse it’s going to be on her. She’ll be taken care of.”

Rhys tries to breathe past the tightness in his throat. “Just give me a few more days, okay? Then I promise I’ll be out.”

Yvette sighs. “You get three more days. After that we’re coming in after you.”

“Deal.” Rhys hangs up because he really can’t handle this conversation anymore.

Three days. He has three days to figure out how to tell Angel goodbye.


	7. Jack

Jack inspects his face in the mirror while Athena is on the phone. Athena did good work; the jagged cut across his face is healing, although it will almost definitely leave a scar.

It could have been worse. It could have been so much worse.

The sun had been low in the sky by the time Athena came and picked him up off the river’s edge, and Jack had been drifting in and out of consciousness. He doesn’t remember much about the ride back, but he remembers clearly the sting when Athena had applied antiseptic to his face. She had frowned and prodded his face once it was clean.

“This is going to need stitches.” Her tone was neutral, but Jack could see the faint shadow of concern in her eyes.

“Do it,” Jack gritted out. Athena pressed her lips together, but she got out the suture kit without further comment. It took effort, especially when Athen brought the needle in close, but Jack made himself sit still on the table as she sewed up his face.

The sutures stung going in, but they were a distant second to the growing anger inside him.

Rhys had tried to  _ kill  _ him.

_ Rhys  _ had tried to  _ kill  _ him.

_ Rhys had tried to kill him. _

That son of a  _ bitch _ . Here he had wormed his way into Jack’s affec- into Jack’s life, and all this time Rhys had been waiting for the chance to off him. He was probably on his way to collect the insurance money  _ right now _ \- and then there was Jack’s estate, and the only thing standing in his way was -

Angel. Jack’s stomach dropped down to his toes and for a minute he thought he was going to throw up.  _ Angel. _

He must have made some sort of involuntary movement, because Athena’s hand had clamped down on his shoulder. “Hold  _ still _ ,” she said. “You almost lost this eye, don’t make me poke it out by accident.”

“ _ Screw _ the stitches.” Jack had held it together pretty well until then, he thought, but this was  _ Angel _ . He jerked his head back from Athena’s hands and tried to slide past her off the table. “He’s going after Angel next - we have to get back before that piece of  _ shit _ gets near my daughter.”

“Stop it.” Athena grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him back up on the table, and Jack didn’t have time for this, didn’t she understand this was his  _ daughter? _

“Angel’s fine.” Athena shook him a little. “Angel’s not in danger, would you sit still and let me finish?”

That got Jack’s attention. “How can you  _ possibly _ know that,” Jack said flatly, sickening dread spreading through his stomach.

Athena sighed. “Because eight months ago I was approached for a contract on your life, and your life only. I turned it down,” she added when Jack just stared at her. “But I suspect your boy toy picked it up.”

“What - were you ever planning on telling me someone was out to kill me?” Jack said in disbelief.

Athena shrugged. “I figured you could look out for yourself. You have to know you’ve made enemies,” and any other time Jack would have a cocky comeback, but this had been a hell of a day and he’s fresh out. “We didn’t part on the best of terms,” Athena continued, “and I figured you could handle someone who wasn’t me.”

“Okay, but -  _ Rhys?  _ He’s a trust fund baby, not a contract killer,” Jack protested.

“Is he,” Athena said. She brought the needle back up to his face, and Jack held still for it. “Are you sure about that?”

That had been enough for Jack to let her finish patching him up. Athena had good instincts about these things, and she kept in touch with a world that Jack had (mostly) left behind.

Case in point: 

“Nisha can be here in 24 hours,” Athena says, thumbing off her phone. “Wilhelm might take a little longer - says he’s at least 18 hours from an extraction point, but if we want to come pick him up feel free.”

“Do it. You’re still with Springs, right? Get her to make the arrangements.” Athena sighs, but picks up her phone again.

“Tell me again why you think this  _ wasn’t _ about the inheritance,” Jack says when Athena hangs up, fingers tracing over the wound on his face. 

Athena shrugs. “I’m just saying it’s suspiciously timed. And stop pulling at your face, you’ll tear apart your stitches.”

Jack glares at her in the mirror but drops his hand. “Yes, it was  _ extremely  _ suspicious timing,” Jack says. “As in, right after he married me and gained access to all of my assets.”

_ “No _ ,” says Athena, rolling her eyes. “Right when you’re competing with Dahl for the Department of Defense contract renewal.”

That gives Jack pause, and he doesn’t like where he thinks Athena is going with this. “You think they’re moving on Hyperion?”

“I don’t know. I’m just saying it’s awfully convenient for Dahl to have Hyperion in disarray.”

Jack feels sick and something beyond angry. “Rhys tried to kill me over a  _ contract _ ?”

Athena shrugs again. “Like I said, I don’t know. It seems like an awful lot of work when a gun for hire would be easier - but this way there are fewer questions, I suppose.”

Jack growls. “There’s one way to find out.”

Athena raises her eyebrows at him.

“We’ll wait until Wilhelm and Nisha get here, but then we’re moving on the house. In the meantime get someone to look into  _ Rhys Oliver _ . Let’s see just how well this shithead has covered his tracks.”

Athena frowns at him. “How far are you going to take this?”

“All the way,” Jack replies, fingers coming up to trace the lines of the stitches on his face again. “As far as it takes.”


	8. Rhys

More often than not, Rhys finds himself drawn to Jack’s study. He’ll spend hours sitting in Jack’s chair, knees drawn up to his chest, surrounding himself with the space in which Jack conducted the business of his life. He doesn’t bother going through any of the papers - those don’t interest him, and that wasn’t part of the deal - but he does spend some time studying the pictures Jack kept on his desk.

There’s one of Angel, of course, when she was five or six, twirling in a blue dress in the sunlight. Rhys has always been fond of that one.

There’s one with a younger Jack and a group of people all in military fatigues whom Rhys doesn’t know, whom Jack had just described as “old friends.” Jack had never talked much about his time in the service, and this is one of the few photos Rhys has ever seen from those days. There’s an impossibly large man with an artificial eye, a gleeful looking woman in a decidedly non-regulation cowboy hat, an intimidating woman with purple hair, and a blond woman hanging off her shoulder. Tim’s there too, although he doesn’t look too happy about it, and Jack’s in the middle, laughing big and pointing at the picture-taker.

Then there’s one of Rhys and Jack. This one’s much newer, taken shortly after Jack had asked Rhys to marry him. It’s a candid shot; Jack’s got his arm slung around Rhys’ shoulders and is leaning in close. Rhys is looking back at him with a small smile on his face.

They look happy. Rhys looks at that one for a long time.

He’s got it in his hands, trying to memorize the look on Jack’s face, when the door bangs open and Tim stands in the doorway, face turned away to talk to someone over his shoulder.

_ Oh shit _ . Rhys’ stomach drops. Tim’s found out, somehow; Rhys was careful, he didn’t leave any evidence behind - there  _ was _ no evidence to leave behind - but there’s always something, there’s always a risk.

Then Tim turns to face him, and there’s an ugly healing gash across his face and his eyes are on fire and this is  _ impossible _ because that’s not Tim, that’s  _ Jack _ .

Rhys’ mouth falls open but suddenly there’s no air in the room. Jack curls his lip, and then he’s surging forward, hands closing around Rhys’ throat in an iron grip and hauling him up and out of the chair. He slams Rhys against bookcase on the far wall, toppling books and mementos to the floor, but his grip around Rhys’ throat never falters.

“Hi, honey,” Jack says through bared teeth. “Miss me?”

Rhys’ toes scrabble for purchase on the floor but Jack just hoists him higher, so he loses contact with the ground completely. Rhys gasps for air but Jack is relentless, squeezing tighter and tighter until Rhys’ vision goes spotty at the edges.

Rhys is starting to lose feeling in his limbs. His eyes are watering, and not just from lack of oxygen. With what feels like the last strength in his body he shifts his hands from where he's been trying to brace himself on Jack’s forearms. Jack snarls at him, but Rhys doesn't try to fight back, just lays his hands on top of Jack’s and as his vision goes black he thinks  _ thank god. _


	9. Jack

Jack hadn’t expected it to be so easy.

Oh, he hadn’t expected armed guards at the door or anything. But he had half-expected Rhys to be gone already, even though Jack was only a couple of days behind him. Instead Jack runs into his brother in the hall, who is baffled but overjoyed to see him alive. Tim goes to pull Jack into a relieved embrace but stops short at the sight of the gun at Jack’s hip.

“What’s that for?” Tim’s face hardens as he takes in the wound on Jack’s face and Athena standing silently behind his shoulder. “Jack, what are you - what _happened_ to you?”

“Where’s Rhys?” Jack says, instead of answering. Tim’s frown deepens, but he stands aside and gestures toward Jack’s study.

It’s Tim that pulls him off of Rhys, in the end.

“You’re going to tell me everything,” Tim says as he checks Rhys’ pulse and Jack stands by, fingers itching. It’s as close to an order as Tim ever gets.

“I will when I know something,” Jack replies. “How’s - where’s Angel?”

“She’s upstairs.” Jack  quite decipher the look on Tim’s face. “She’s been - this has been really rough on her. Can I - are you going to see her?”

“Yeah.” Jack looks back at Rhys, who is beginning to stir. “After I’m done here. Go and check on her, would you? I asked Nisha to find her, but she’s not the most, uh, _comforting_ person in the world.” Tim raises his eyebrows at that, but he helps Jack haul Rhys into a chair by the desk and turns to leave. He puts his hand on Jack’s shoulder on the way out.

“I don’t know what’s going on here, but I’m - I’m glad you’re not dead.” His fingers tighten for a moment and then he leaves Jack alone with Rhys.

After that there’s nothing to do but wait for Rhys to wake up.

* * *

 “Rhys Oliver doesn’t exist,” Jack says, slapping a folder down in front of Rhys as he groans and cradles his head in his hands _._ Rhy- the _imposter_ blinks at the file, then up at Jack, then back at the folder on the desk. Jack stands over Rh- over the _fraud_ as he opens the folder and tentatively pages through the items inside. Passport, driver’s license, birth certificate - all very well done, but all forgeries. Whoever had done up the papers had done a good job, but not good enough to stand up to the kind of scrutiny Athena could bring to bear.

Of course, if Jack had thought to do this _before_ he was suckered in by a pair of doe eyes and a pretty face, he might have avoided the _attempted murder_ , but R- this man had seemed so harmless, so _perfect,_ and Jack had fallen for it hook, line, and sinker.

Well, he knows better now, doesn’t he?

There had been a moment where Jack had been tempted to keep up the pressure around his neck, far past any chance of waking up again. But, as Athena had reminded him earlier, Jack needs answers. And the man sitting at the table in front of him with bruises ringing his throat is the best chance he has at getting them right now.

“So what _is_ your name?” Jack sneers. “Gotta call you something besides _traitor._ ”

Rhy- the younger man actually has the gall to flinch at that. He closes the folder in front of him and stares down at it, as if the words that will save him are written on it.

There are no words that will save him, not anymore, but Jack’s got some time. He might as well hear what he has to say.

“My name _is_ Rhys,” he says quietly, shooting Jack a surreptitious look. “That part was true.”

“Oh, I see.” Jack swings a chair around backward and settles on to it, folding his arms across the back. “So it was just everything else that was a lie,” he says, gesturing toward the- toward _Rhys._ Rhys swallows.

“Not everything,” he says, and _now_ he’s looking Jack in the eye and just like that Jack’s back in that white-hot center of rage that let him pull himself out of that river.

“ _Don’t you dare_ ,” Jack hisses, hands clenching white-knuckled on the chair back. “Don’t you fucking _dare_ say that to me after what you did.”

Rhys subsides, looking away again, and Jack takes a few minutes to pull himself back together. There’ll be time to let that anger out later. Right now he needs information.

“Spill,” Jack orders. “I’ve got no problem bleeding you for all you know, so you might as well talk.”

“Okay.” Rhys sighs. If Jack didn't know better he'd think there was a note of relief in there. “Okay. I was - I was hired to kill you.” He slants a sideways look at Jack. “But I think you’ve figured that part out already.” Jack has, but hearing Rhys state it so baldly still burns somewhere deep inside.

“Was Angel - if you’ve done _anything_ -” Jack knows Rhys hasn’t; Nisha had found Angel upstairs in Jack’s bedroom. It looked like Athena had been right - Angel wasn’t part of the package. But Jack needs to hear it for himself, to make _sure._

Rhys looks horrified - or at least, he was doing a pretty good job of faking horrified for someone who had attempted to murder his new husband. “Was Angel - _no_ , no of course not. I wouldn’t do that,” and then he seems to realize how that sounds, and flushes and looks away. “This wasn’t the usual kind of job,” he mutters.

Jack twirls his hand. _Keep going_ . “So what _is_ the usual kind of job?”

Rhys fidgets for a bit, but when Jack lets the silence deepen he finally answers. “Corporate espionage. Stealing secrets. Whatever people want - but it usually comes down to money in the end, one way or another.” When it becomes clear that Jack doesn’t get whatever Rhys’ is trying to say, Rhys huffs. “We’re con artists, okay? We get in, we get out, nobody gets hurt. Usually,” he amends.

“We?” Jack leans forward and is grimly satisfied to see Rhys lean back. He had assumed Rhys was acting alone, but - “Who’s _we_?”

Rhys looks like maybe he hadn’t meant to say that part. “I, uh - just the people I work with. My friends. Somebody’s got to do these, right?” He nudges the folder in front of him and gives Jack a half-smile, but drops it when Jack just stares stonily back.

“I want names.” Maybe he - or more likely, Athena - will recognize one of them and they can start to piece this together, but he’s not expecting it when Rhys says -

“No.”

“Excuse me?” Jack feels his eyebrows shoot up, pulling on the still-healing scar on his face. Rhys’ eyes shift to the ugly gash, and Jack bares his teeth. “I’m sorry princess, did I give you the impression this was a _negotiation_?”

“I said no.” Rhys folds his arms and meets Jack’s eyes, and _there’s_ that spine Jack knew (thought he knew) was in there. There’s fear in Rhys’ eyes still, but there’s determination too, and he sounds more like himself.

Or at least, like the self he was selling Jack.

“Their names won’t mean anything to you, and they’re not part of the deal.” Jack snarls at the word _deal_ , and Rhys’ face blanches a little, but he presses on. “The only name that matters is the person who hired me.”

Jack stills, waiting.

Rhys blows out a breath. “The man we made the deal with was called August. But everyone knows August works for Vallory.”

 _Vallory_. Jack commits it to memory, and promises himself he’s going to destroy the life of the person who thought they could rip his from him.

“The thing is.” Rhys fidgets again. “The thing is that everyone knows _Vallory_ has been taking contracts for Dahl.”

Son of a _bitch._ Athena had been right after all.

“Vallory’s known for being -” Rhys makes a little moue of distaste - “ _messy._ But apparently she’d tried to get to you before and failed - your security’s pretty good, you know.” Rhys smiles slightly again, as if that is _at all_ the kind of thing Jack wants to hear right now.

“Not good enough, apparently,” and Jack takes vindictive pleasure in the look that puts on Rhys’ face.

“Yes, well.” Rhys coughs. “She needed someone to get close to you, and I’m - I’m pretty good at that sort of thing.” Rhys shrugs self-deprecatingly.

“No shit.” Jack thinks he sees how this came together. “You’ve done this before.”

Rhys winces. “Not the -” he lifts his hands slightly and then flattens them against his thighs. “Not the murder part. Like I said, this wasn’t the usual type of job.”

“Initially, yes, it was just about the money. I was just supposed to get close to you, and wait for instructions. I figured it was some sort of long-term corporate espionage gig - unusual, but not unheard of.” Rhys smiles sickly and Jack hates how it looks on his face. “But then Vallory changed the rules.”

“It was a week before the wedding - I got sick the day we were going to the beach, remember? You and Angel went without me.” Jack nods. He remembers, although his skin crawls to think of the family outings the three of them had gone on, to think of this lying bastard so close to his daughter. “Well, I wasn’t sick. I was trying to _fix_ things.”

“I got a call from August that morning. He said that Vallory was getting impatient, that it was time to move on to phase two.” Rhys raises his hands. “I swear until that morning I didn’t know there _was_ a phase two. He said -” Rhys swallows. “He said that Vallory had taken two of my friends as _insurance_. That if you weren’t dead in a month she’d kill Sasha. If you were still alive after six weeks she’d kill Vaughn. And then every week after that, someone else I cared about.” Rhys laughs hollowly. “He said Vallory was being generous, giving me so much time. So I could make it look like an accident.”

 _Vaughn. Sasha_. Jack files the names away - he’s pretty sure Rhys doesn’t realize that he’s slipped up with those - and drums his fingers against the back of the chair. It makes a weird sort of sense - the kind of story that’s just crazy enough to be true. Jack’s going to make Rhys tell it all over again to Athena, to see if any of the details change, but he has a feeling they won’t.

Rhys seems to feel compelled to fill the silence.

“I would have given anything to take it back,” he says. His eyes are wet, but Jack is not falling for that one again. “I still would.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Jack laughs sharp and ugly. “You might just get that chance.”


	10. Rhys

Rhys repeats his story to the dark-haired woman Jack introduces as Athena. “She’s the good cop here, which means boy, are you in trouble.” Athena’s face is impassive as she listens, but her gaze doesn’t burn like Jack’s does.

According to Athena, his story checks out, which - Rhys had known it would. There wasn’t any point in lying anymore. That doesn’t seem to make Jack happy, though; if anything, he looks angrier, and Rhys wonders what it is that Jack wants to hear.

Rhys wonders if Jack even _knows_ what it is he wants to hear.

Rhys keeps sneaking glances at Jack while he’s talking. The wound on Jack’s face doesn’t look good, and Rhys winces on the inside every time he looks at it - but more than anything else he feels his heart rising in his throat a little more with every breath he takes, and each beat is a repeat of _Jack’s alive, Jack’s alive._ He’s definitely worse for the wear and he is _pissed_ , but he’s _alive_ to be pissed, and Rhys has never been so grateful to have fucked something up so badly in his whole life.

Then the door to the study opens, and a very large man with a very large gun ushers in the _last_ person Rhys wants to see right now, and Rhys’ heart drops down into his stomach.

“Fi-” he starts, jolting up out of his chair, but Jack’s hand on his shoulder slams him back down into it. He looks up and Jack’s glaring down at him, fingers digging into Rhys’ shoulder. Rhys looks back at Fiona and belatedly Rhys remembers - today is the last day of Yvette’s ultimatum.

Jack keeps his hand heavy on Rhys’ shoulder as he looks back up across the room. “What do we have here, Wilhelm?” His unfriendly grin pulls at the scar across his face. “A party crasher?”

The big man - Wilhelm, Rhys supposes - grunts an affirmative. “Walked right up to the front door. She was carrying this -” Wilhelm tosses Jack an envelope “- and this.” He flashes what Rhys recognizes as Fiona’s favorite small derringer before tucking it away again.

“Nobody gets hurt, eh?” Jack murmurs, and Rhys glares at Fiona, but she’s glaring right back at him and she’s always been the better glarer. Jack tears open the packet, rifles through it, and snorts before tossing the contents on the desk. Rhys presses his lips together as documents with his face slide across the surface.

Jack picks up the driver’s license. “Looks like I got to you just in time, hm? Rhys _Marsten_? That doesn’t even _sound_ real.” He tosses it back on the desk just as Fiona hisses, “What is going _on here_ , Rhys?”

Rhys has never felt more like crawling into a hole and hiding as he does right now, as every pair of eyes in the room settle on him.

“So, uh.” He rubs his hands together and clasps his fingers, metal digging into flesh. “So things went a little sideways…”

Fiona doesn’t take it well, to put it lightly. She had been coming to collect him from a grieving household; she hadn’t been expecting to walk into what is essentially a hostage situation.

“What the _hell_ , Rhys.” Fiona shrugs off Wilhelm’s hand on her shoulder - or attempts to, anyway. “You told us he was _dead_ ,” she hisses.

“He was?” Rhys shrugs helplessly. “Only it uh, turns out he isn’t.”

“If this is why you wouldn’t leave -”

“No, I-”

“Enough.” Jack makes a sharp cutting motion with his hand. “You are both here at _my_ discretion now, and let me assure you, unlike _some_ people when I get rid of someone they stay dead,” he says with a meaningful glance at Rhys. “So shut it.”

Fiona presses her lips together but she doesn’t argue. “So what now?” she says instead.

Rhys has been thinking about that. “I - I think I might have a plan.”

Jack leans against the desk, putting himself between Rhys and Fiona. “Oh, I can’t wait to hear this.” He picks up Rhys’ new passport and flips through it, raising an eyebrow at some of the stamps. He looks back at Rhys when Rhys doesn’t immediately continue. “Well?”

Rhys rubs his hand over his thighs. “You’re not going to like it,” he says, looking at Fiona.

He’s right. She doesn't.

“No way,” Fiona says when Rhys explains. “No _way_ . That is the _stupidest_ plan I’ve ever heard.”

“It could work, though,” Athena chimes in. Rhys had almost forgotten she was there, and he’s grateful for the support from this unexpected quarter. She shrugs when he looks at her, face still impassive, eyes reserving judgement. “I mean, your friend’s right - it is incredibly stupid, and you’ll probably die. But it could work.”

“Why are you doing this, Rhys?” Fiona’s angry with him, Rhys can tell, but it’s an anger born of worry and he can’t begrudge her that. “Give me an answer that makes sense”

Rhys rubs his hands over his face and doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Jack hasn’t chimed in yet, and Rhys glances at him once before looking back at Fiona. “I just- I have to do this Fiona, I _have_ to. It’s the only way I can make things right.” Jack huffs at that but Rhys ignores him. It’s the truth and he’s - he’s going to try to not lie to Jack anymore if he can help it.

Fiona throws up her hands. “When did you get so attached?”

Rhys doesn’t know.

“Enough,” Jack cuts in, putting down the passport. “We’re doing this. Nuh-uh,” he says as Fiona starts to argue some more, “I’m calling the shots now. I think you people have done enough.” Fiona subsides at that, but Rhys can tell she is far from happy.

Rhys is pretty far from happy himself, but he doesn’t see any other way forward than this. No other way to make things right.


	11. Jack

It’s a stupid plan, but Jack had gone along with it.

“Dahl’s a big company,” Rhys had said, hunching a little in the chair. Jack didn’t know if Rhy was making himself smaller on purpose, but he didn’t like the way Rhys’ shoulders drew in on themselves. “You need to know who hired Vallory in the first place.”

“And you can get that for me,” Jack had said.

“I can.” Rhys had sounded confident in that, at least. “Vallory likes my work. She told me so. She’ll talk to me; I can say I’m interested in branching out, making new contacts. I’ll wear a wire so you can hear everything,” he says, just as Jack is about to point out what an  _ excellent  _ opportunity for Rhys to double cross - triple cross? - him that sounds like. “I’m in and out, you get the info, nobody gets hurt.” He had tried a small smile, and for the first time since Jack laid eyes on him again Jack  _ hadn't  _ felt like wiping it off his face.

Athena and Rhys’ friend Fiona are right - it is a ridiculous,  _ dumbass  _ plan, and it’ll probably get Rhys killed, but Jack had gone along with it because he is still somewhere beyond anger, beyond reason. Rhys had made a certain (very small) amount of sense, and it’s not like Jack is putting anything of value on the line, right?

_ If _ Rhys is telling the truth.  _ If _ Jack can trust him again.

The plan had come together quickly once Jack got everyone in motion, and thanks to Springs they’ll be ready to move within a day or two. Once Rhys makes contact with Vallory then Jack and the others will follow at a distance. Theoretically, they will be there to listen in and help out if Rhys gets into any trouble - but Jack thinks that maybe he won’t rush  _ too _ quickly to pull Rhys’ ass out of the fire if it comes to that, all things considered. Fiona is arguing that she should come too but Jack can count on one hand the number of people he trusts right now and Fiona is definitely not among them.

Tim had been surprisingly angry when Jack had filled him in - it had been gratifying to watch, actually, Tim’s face getting more and more thunderous as Jack continued. Jack found it easy sometimes, to - not  _ forget, _ exactly, that Tim had been in the same special forces unit with him and the others, but it was easy to ignore in the face of Tim’s love of civilian life. As he watched the fire build in Tim’s eyes, though - and remembered Tim’s sniper records - Jack had wondered with some amusement if Rhys wasn’t lucky that he had Jack to deal with and not Tim.

Angel clearly didn’t buy his “Rhys and I have to go sort some things out,” but she hadn’t called him on it. Instead she hugged him tightly, face pressed to his chest, and made him promise to come back. 

“I will, honey,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. If she noticed the way his hands started shaking when he buried his face in her hair, she hadn’t said anything. “Whatever it takes, I’ll always come back to you. I have so far, haven’t I?”

“Bring back Rhys too, okay?” Jack hadn’t answered that one, locking eyes with Tim over Angel’s head. Tim had shrugged and folded his arms, still clearly pissed. But when Tim had looked back over his shoulder as he led Angel out of the room, the promise in his eyes had eased some of the tightness in Jack’s chest.

Now it’s just him, alone in the study. He’s too keyed up to sleep right now, even though it feels like ages since he’s gotten any real rest.

Jack picks up the photo Rhys had in his hand when Jack had found him. The study is still a mess - books on the floor, broken glass crunching underfoot, but Jack can’t bring himself to care. Someone will clean it up later.

Instead he traces his fingers over the framed photograph in his hand. Angel had taken it; Rhys is wearing one of Jack’s favorite sweaters and Jack is pulling him close. Jack had always had a hard time keeping his hands off of Rhys, and it shows, here; Jack is smiling, genuinely smiling, and Rhys-

Rhys doesn’t look like he’s lying at all.

Jack vaguely hears a  _ crack  _ and then there’s a line running through Rhys’ face. Very carefully, so as not to disturb the cracked glass, he puts the frame face down on his desk.

There’s a noise from the door, and as if thinking about him had summoned him, Jack sees Rhys standing in the hallway.

“Your locks are pretty easy to pick,” Rhys says, stepping into the room, as if he can read Jack’s mind. “And I - I wanted to talk to you alone.”

Jack waits. Rhys takes a steadying breath, and he’s about to speak when his eyes catch on what Jack was looking at.

“That’s a good picture of us, don’t you think?” Rhys says instead, nodding toward the photo under Jack’s fingertips.

It is. Jack had always liked it. He doesn’t know what it means that Rhys can still say  _ of us _ so casually, as if that still means something, as if -

“I’ve just got one question.” That’s not true - Jack has a hundred questions, but right now only this one seems important. “Why did you agree to marry me?”

Rhys shrugs one shoulder. “I guess I got caught up in it - caught up in you, I mean.” Rhys smiles sadly. “You’re like a force of nature, you know that? It was easy to - to forget, I suppose, that I wasn’t supposed to let it get that far. And then.” Rhys sighs. “And then Vallory happened, and I didn’t have any other choices.”

Jack doesn’t know what he wanted Rhys to say - if he was waiting for a declaration of undying love or of mercenary calculation. This in-between answer isn’t something he was ready for. 

“Then why did you stay,” Jack asks evenly, and even as he watches Rhys’ gaze slide nervously to the side Jack wonders if maybe this is what he really wanted to know. “You could have been anywhere in the world the next day, so  _ tell me why you stayed _ .”

Rhys doesn’t answer him, and that just pisses Jack off, because the Rhys he knows always has a glib answer to everything.

(Only the Rhys he knows is a lie, isn’t he?)

Jack is ready to  _ shake _ the answers out of Rhys, when Rhys says in a small tone, “Angel.”

Rhys’ left hand come up to grip his metal arm. “I couldn’t leave her all alone.” Rhys meets Jack’s eyes and there’s the shadow of something defiant there. “What I did to you was bad enough. I wasn’t going to just abandon her too.”

Jack is speechless and, suddenly, furious. 

“I was helping her pick out colleges, you know?” Rhys smiles sadly and Jack wants to  _ hit _ him, to wipe that look off his face. “Before I- before you-  _ before _ . I just wanted to give her a few more days of, of  _ semi _ -normalcy.”

Jack had known that, that Rhys and Angel had been looking at schools together. He had forgotten it - he’s had a  _ few _ other things on his mind recently - but he remembers now. He’s struck by a sudden feeling of vertigo - he doesn’t know how to reconcile the Rhys he had known, who had been helping Angel look at schools and who had laughed in the bedroom, with the Rhys who had pushed him off that cliff, or even with the Rhys that stands in front of him, bathed in moonlight and somewhere in between the other two.

Jack takes refuge in anger, because anger is what he knows; anger is easier than this - than whatever else this is that he’s feeling.

“This plan is going to work,” Rhys says suddenly. “You have to-” he swallows. “You have to trust me on this one.”

Jack sneers. “Yeah, because look where that got me the first time.”

Rhys looks tired all of a sudden, and he steps closer to Jack, who stands his ground. “Do you want me to say that I’m sorry? I am. Every day I wished that I could have found another way.” He comes to a stop in front of Jack, who even in the dim light can still see the ring of bruises shadowing Rhys’ throat. “I did what I did to protect the people I love. I just didn’t -” Rhys swallows again. “I just didn’t realize that you were one of them until it was too late,” he finishes quietly.

Rhys shifts forward slightly, as if he’s leaning in for a kiss, and Jack doesn’t think about it - he leans back, just out of reach. He can’t - he can’t  _ deal  _ with this right now. This is another con, it has to be - Rhys is trying to play him, and Jack is not falling for those words again. He’s  _ not _ .

Rhys takes the hint and rocks back on his heels. His eyes are shadowed but Jack can clearly see the disappointment there - the disappointment that his plan didn’t work, Jack tells himself. That has to be it.

Rhys lays a hand on Jack’s chest instead. “Anyway. I’m glad you’re alive.” He turns away, and Jack can feel the heat from his skin even after it’s gone. “That’s what I wanted to tell you. I’ll see myself back upstairs.” And just like that he’s gone, ghosting out the doorway and up the stairs as Jack stares after him. Jack stands there a long time, afraid to move, as if to do so will rearrange the world into something he doesn’t understand - or possibly, into something he does.


	12. Rhys

Rhys can’t sleep. He supposes that’s not surprising.

Rhys rolls out of bed and hits the lights. He knows he saw it earlier - and sure enough, sorting through the the roll-top desk in the guest bedroom he’s theoretically locked in reveals a sheaf of creamy stationary. Some well-meaning interior-designer had left the desk well stocked with expensive paper and a selection of fountain pens.

Since he he can’t sleep, he might as well make use of it.

Rhys is pretty sure he is going to die tomorrow. It's been a long couple of days getting everything in place, but they're finally ready to move. Athena was right - it  _ is _ a stupid plan, but it will probably work to get Jack what he needs. Rhys can’t undo what he’s done, but this does seem like a kind of poetic justice - Rhys’ life to get the target off of Jack’s back.

There are some things he needs to say first, though.

The letter to Fiona, Yvette, and the others is fairly lengthy. He’s known them the longest, after all. He apologizes for screwing everything up, for letting them down, and for leaving them this way. At the bottom he adds the numbers to the separate accounts he’s set up over the years. Someone ought to get some use out of them, and Vaughn will know how to access them. Once he stops cursing Rhys for being a goddamn idiot, that is. Rhys smiles a little at the thought.

The letter to Angel is shorter. He apologizes for leaving so suddenly. He doesn’t know what Jack has told her, if anything - he doesn’t know if Jack will even let her see this letter, but he has to try. He tells her to go with her first college choice. Harvard will be good for her, Rhys thinks as he seals it and sets it aside.

The letter to Jack is the shortest, although it takes Rhys the longest to write. There’s so much Rhys wants to say - how he had meant it when he told Jack “I love you,” how he wishes things were different. How when they were together Jack had made him forget that it wasn’t real. But he had tried to say it the other night in Jack’s study, and Jack hadn’t seemed interested in hearing any of it. Rhys supposes he can’t blame him.

Rhys wonders if Jack had noticed that Rhys was still wearing his wedding ring.

In the end he doesn’t say any of it. He simply writes, “I’m sorry,” and signs his name. He pulls off the ring, weighs it in his hand for a minute, then seals it along with the letter in the envelope with Jack’s name on it.

It’ll be enough. It’ll have to be.

Rhys leaves the envelopes propped up on the dresser. He feels - he doesn’t feel  _ better _ exactly, but he feels lighter, a little bit. Enough to carry on, for now - after all, he doesn’t have far to go.


	13. Jack

The day they head out dawns clear and bright, and as Jack loads equipment into the back of the van, he thinks that it looks auspicious, if he believed in that kind of stuff. Rhys has an appointment to meet Vallory in the early afternoon - that’s plenty of time to get into position.

Tim had decided to join them at the last minute, and Jack had taken him up on it gratefully. Tim’s the best sniper he knows, and Jack’s not passing up the chance to have another pair of eyes on the situation. Nisha was not happy to be left behind - “I didn’t come out of retirement to be your goddamn babysitter, Jesus” - and Jack half expects that he’ll come back to find Nisha teaching Angel how to make homemade incendiaries, but that’s something he can live with. He’s not leaving his little girl alone until this mess is cleaned up.

Jack had let Fiona accompany them only because he didn’t trust what she might do if he sent her away. At least this way he can have Wilhelm keep an eye on her. Athena had taken an uncharacteristic liking to the younger woman, and he had caught them comparing notes on small firearms the day before. Athena was impervious to his furious scowl - but then, she always had been - and Fiona seemed to be disappointingly unfazed by him as well, simply raising an eyebrow in his direction. He wasn’t entirely happy with the way the two of them got on, but Jack trusts Athena’s professionalism. He does  _ not  _ trust Fiona, but he supposes this is a “friends close, enemies closer” situation.

Speaking of.

Rhys is uncharacteristically quiet on the ride in. Sometimes Jack thinks he can feel Rhys’ eyes on him in the passenger seat, but every time he turns Rhys is looking elsewhere - at his hands, at the audio equipment, anywhere but at Jack. The third time Jack does it Wilhelm raises an eyebrow at him and Jack turns back to the front, irritated. 

When they come to the drop-off, Jack finds himself stopping Rhys with a hand on his arm as he’s unbuckling. Rhys looks down at Jack’s hand and then up at his face, and Jack jerks his hand back. “Just - just remember what’s important,” Jack says. He has the usual pre-op adrenaline coursing through his system - that’s probably why he feels so jittery.

Rhys has a strange look on his face, one Jack can’t quite decipher. “Don’t worry. I will.” He’s clambering out the back of the van, and then he’s gone, and there’s nothing to do but set up the equipment and wait.

The waiting is always the worst part, Jack thinks as he shifts in his seat for the thousandth time. Athena glares at him and he glares back, but he subsides. His fingers come up to trace over his face again.

Finally the appointed time rolls around, and Jack sits up as he hears the sounds of conversation. Rhys exchanges a few words with unknown voices, then there’s the sound of a door opening and a gravelly female voice that can only be Vallory.

Jack finds his breath coming faster, and forces himself to take deep, even breaths.

“Rhys. Come in. I’m frankly a little surprised you asked to see me.” Vallory says, and there’s a too-casual amiability about her tone that Jack doesn’t trust at all.

“Are you?” If Rhys is unsettled his voice doesn’t show it. “I was under the impression you approved of how I handled Jack Lawrence.”

“Hmm, yes. Jack Lawrence.” There’s a sound like drumming fingers, and Jack starts to get a bad feeling about this. “I  _ did _ approve of that, yes. Very neat - no body, no evidence, and quickly done too. Anders was so pleased, he paid the contract out early.  _ That  _ is the reason you got your friends back.”  _ Charleston Anders _ .  _ Got you, you son of a bitch.  _ Jack is so busy gloating he almost misses the next part.

“The thing is,” and there’s the sound of a lock  _ snicking _ shut and a drawer opening. “The thing  _ is _ that it doesn’t appear to have stuck.” Fiona draws in a breath and Athena shushes her.

“What - haha, what are you talking about?”  _ Now _ Rhys sounds a little nervous and Jack can feel Athena looking at him.

“ _ Jack _ .” Tim’s voice crackles over the radio. “ _ If you’re going to pull him out you need to do it now.”  _ Tim’s voice is even, as if he’s reporting on the weather, and Jack knows that Tim will follow his lead in this.

“Jack Lawrence was spotted four days ago in the company of one of his mercenary buddies. Not as pretty as he used to be, but upright and breathing, which is a problem for me and for you.” There’s the sound of a fist hitting flesh and a pained gasp comes over the line. “I honestly don’t care what happened,” Vallory continues, “but I have a reputation to maintain, understand? It was awfully convenient of you to come waltzing in here, because it saves me the trouble of hunting you down to take the failure out of your skin.”

“ _ Jack.  _ You have to get him out there,” Fiona says, low and urgent, leaning forward. Her eyes are fixed on him but Jack refuses to look at her.

“I don’t  _ have _ to do anything,” Jack says as another  _ crack _ echoes over the line.

Jack knows the sound of a beating when he hears one. He can hear everything with crystal clarity over the line - the sounds of a struggle, Rhys’ pained grunts, and he does nothing. He can see Fiona shift as if to get up in his peripheral vision, but Athena puts a firm hand on her arm and as Jack stares fixedly at the display he thinks that this is nothing less than Rhys deserves, for betraying him in the first place.

“ _ Jack. Please,”  _ Fiona hisses, and Jack thinks,  _ no. _

He thinks that right up to the point he hears Rhys’ voice on the line, just barely above a whisper. “Letters. On the dresser.” There’s an audible  _ crunch _ and a shaky inhale, and then Rhys says, “Tell Angel I’m sorry for leaving.”

And Jack realizes that Rhys never expected to make it out of that room.

Jack feels like he’s been shocked back into his body. He looks down at his hands - they’re shaking, and he realizes with a cold dread that he can't do this, he can’t lose Rhys after all.

Not like this.

Over the line he hears the unmistakable sound of a safety being released.

Jack scrambles for the door, hearing Athena and Wilhelm move into action behind him. He’s barely made it out of the van when the shot rings out over the line.


	14. Rhys

_ Beep. Beep. Beep. _

_ “Paddles, now! Charging-” _

_ Beeeeeeep. Beeeeeeep. _

_ “Clear!” _

_ Beeeeeeeee-  _


	15. Jack

Rhys’ heart stops twice on the way to the hospital. It feels like Jack’s does too.

Rhys is in critical care for over three weeks. The doctors - the best that Jack can buy - say that there’s nothing to do but wait for him to come out of the coma on his own. They say that talking to him might help. So Jack is there every day, trying to coax Rhys awake, first with a gentle voice, and when that fails, screaming at him for being such a moron. He tries bargaining, telling Rhys everything is forgiven if Rhys will just  _ wake up _ . He tries pleading - doesn’t Rhys know Angel is expecting him? Could Rhys really rest in peace knowing that?

Rhys doesn’t respond to any of it.

When Jack finally makes it back home and finds the letters in the guest room, he tears them open immediately and scans all of them. The one for Rhys’ friends he hands over grudgingly when they come to visit him in the hospital. Fiona raises an eyebrow at the clearly opened envelope, but he stares her down and she rolls her eyes, skimming the letter and scowling at the contents. Rhys’ friends apparently have their own shouting to do at him, which makes Jack feel a little better - but still doesn’t ease the disappointment when Rhys fails to wake up.

The letter to Angel Jack decides to hold onto. He’ll give it to her if - if the worst happens.

The envelope addressed to him is slightly bulkier than the others. Jack stares at the contents for a long time; first the letter, and then the ring sitting heavily in his palm. The letter he re-folds carefully, putting it in his pocket, and the next time he’s at the hospital he takes it out, balls it up, and throws it at Rhys’ face.

It bounces off with a small  _ thwock _ and rolls under a chair. Rhys doesn’t respond.

The ring Jack holds on to, fingering it in his pocket as he waits for Rhys to wake up.

Jack is drowsing in a chair next to Rhys’ hospital bed the day that Rhys stirs. When Rhys finally opens his eyes, bleary with exhaustion and pain, Jack is standing at his bedside, arms folded across his chest.

They stare at each other for what seems like a long time.

Jack finally huffs, breaking the silence. “I guess this makes us even, then.” He sounds gruff even to his own ears, but now that they’re here, he’s not quite sure what to say.

Rhys is silent for a long moment. “I guess it does,” he says eventually, voice rusty from disuse, and Jack can tell right away from his tone that he doesn’t  _ get  _ it. So he sits down on Rhys’ bedside, careful not to jostle him, and picks up Rhys’ hand. The skin is still far too pale, even by Rhys’ standards. Rhys is still looking at him like a kicked puppy, like he’s looked at Jack ever since - ever since Jack came back.

Jack presses his dry and cracked lips to the back of Rhys’ hand. He’s always been better at gestures than words, so he digs the ring out of his pocket and slips it back over Rhys’ finger, where it belongs.

“I almost died, you almost died,” he says anyway, because he wants to make sure that Rhys understands. “We’re even. We’ve got time to figure the rest out.” He doesn’t say anything about the way Rhys’ fingers are suddenly trembling in his, or about the hitch in Rhys’ breath, or about the thing in Rhys’ eyes that looks like hope.

Instead he squeezes Rhys’ hand one more time before standing and moving to the foot of Rhys’ bed. Jack picks up the chart hanging there and pretends like he can decipher it. His eyes catch on the name listed at the top. 

“You never did tell me your last name. Your  _ real  _ last name,” Jack corrects, fingers tracing over  _ Rhys Lawrence  _ at the top of the chart.

Rhys closes his eyes, whether out of exhaustion or at the question, Jack can't tell. “It's Sommerset,” he says quietly. “Rhys Sommerset.”

“Hmmph.”  _ Sommerset _ . Jack tries it out in his mind, and hangs the chart back on the bed. “Think I like  _ Lawrence  _ on you better.”

And Jack doesn’t even care that Rhys is crying openly, messily, that his nose is running. Because the smile on Rhys’ lips is the most beautiful thing Jack has seen since he held Angel in his arms for the first time.

Yeah. They’ll figure this out.


	16. Rhys: Epilogue

That’s not the end of it, though. Not by a long shot.

For one, there’s the whole “Jack was dead but now he’s not” thing to sort out. Turns out the process of getting someone declared alive again after they’ve been declared dead is fairly complicated, but as Jack says, that’s what lawyers are for.

And then there’s Dahl. Charleston Anders is the vice president, but there’s no way of knowing if he acted alone. That, Jack says, is what shady underworld contacts are for, and Rhys almost laughs when he realizes that Jack means  _ him _ . Rhys has Yvette put out some feelers, and she brings back some leads that look promising. Jack, meanwhile, is putting his not inconsiderable energy into destroying Dahl’s stock, which always puts him in a good mood.

Timothy is  _ not _ in a good mood, at least not where Rhys is concerned. Timothy arrives at the hospital one day before Rhys is released and summarily kicks everyone out, even Jack. Jack takes one look at Timothy’s face and pats Rhys’ hand as he stands.

“Good luck, babe,” he says, shoulder-checking Tim on the way out. “Remember I want him alive, Tim,” he says as he shuts the door behind him, and then Rhys is alone with Tim’s eyes burning into his.

Timothy doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just wraps his hands around the bar at the foot of Rhys’ hospital bed. 

“Don’t think that just because Jack and Angel have forgiven you that I have,” he says finally, and  _ ah _ , they’re having  _ this _ conversation.

“I’ll respect Jack’s decision in this,” Tim continues. “But don’t think that there’s anywhere in this world that you can hide if you hurt them again.” He makes a pistol-shape with his hand and mimes aiming it at Rhys’ forehead, and Rhys remembers that for all that Timothy appears soft on the outside, he has the same background as the rest of the ex- (or in some cases, not-so-ex) mercenaries Jack can apparently call on at will.

“I’ll remember,” Rhys promises, and as much as he mourns the loss of Timothy’s easy friendship, part of him is glad that Tim is holding a grudge. It feels like penance.

That appears to satisfy Tim, and he nods and turns to leave. As he pushes the door open Rhys sees Jack in conversation with Wilhelm. Jack turns to look at Tim, and they have a moment of unspoken communication before Jack shrugs and comes back inside, and Tim heads out, Wilhelm trailing him down the hall.

“Survived the firing squad, did you?” Jack says as he settles back in his chair, putting his feet up on the edge of Rhys’ bed.

“For now,” Rhys agrees.

“Eh, he’ll come around. He’s just pissy because he’s sorting things out with Wilhelm.” Rhys thinks there may be a  _ little _ more to it than that, but he’s not going to argue, not about this.

So there’s recovery, bit by bit, and there’s reparation of the damage done between them. Jack holds Rhys’ hand a lot, thumb rubbing over the ring on Rhys’ finger, as if  _ Rhys _ is the one who needs reassurance. Rhys has to admit that he’s grateful for it.

The first time Jack kisses Rhys after he comes home - and that  _ is _ a surprise to Rhys, that Jack feels like  _ home _ now - feels like a revelation. They’ve done this what feels like a hundred, a thousand times before, but as Rhys traces his hand over Jack’s scar it feels like he’s learning Jack’s body all over again, and Jack looks at him like he’s seeing Rhys for the first time.

In some ways, Rhys supposes that he is.

Jack’s touch is careful but firm, the heavy violence drained out of him, and in its place a subtler intensity that is no less fierce for all that it doesn’t bruise. Rhys soaks it up as Jack undresses him, revels in it, in this thing he never thought he’d have again. As Jack presses him down into the mattress he closes his eyes and tips his head back. Jack brushes a thumb over Rhys’ temple, near the corner of his eye.

“Eyes open,” he says, and just because it’s soft doesn’t mean it’s not a demand. “I want to see you.” Rhys blinks but he complies, training his eyes on Jack’s face as Jack leans back on his heels, satisfied.

“Good,” he says. “Keep them open.”

It’s harder than it sounds, keeping his eyes open and on Jack as Jack trails his hands over Rhys’ body, mapping out every plane and curve. He wants to close his eyes and lose himself in it, in the fire that Jack always brings out in him, but Jack asked and so Rhys keeps his eyes open, watching Jack as he stretches Rhys out, teasing him until his cock is hard and leaking and even three fingers is not enough.

“Please,” Rhys gets out, head tossing as Jack brushes over that electric spot inside him. “Please, Jack,  _ please. _ ”

Jack pulls his fingers out with a satisfied smirk, but it’s replaced by a look of concentration as he lines himself up and presses in. Rhys gasps as Jack sinks into him; he’s missed this, he’s missed  _ Jack _ , even when he was only inches away, sleeping in the same bed. Nothing quite compares to the way Jack makes him feel, like Jack’s the center of the universe and Rhys is being sucked in even as Jack breaks him apart.

He hadn’t been lying when he said it was easy to get caught up in this. Rhys wants to close his eyes and let it happen, but Jack’s got his hands on the back of Rhys’ legs and is lifting, and the improved angle slides him in deeper and  _ sharper _ and Rhys’ breath cuts off on a choked sound. His hand scrambles for Jack’s, and Jack takes it, lacing their fingers together on Rhys’ hip.

Rhys squirms a little as Jack rocks into him, hard and  _ thick _ in a way that fingers just aren’t. His breath is coming short in his chest, and he’s not even aware there are tears forming in the corners of his eyes until Jack reaches up to wipe them away.

“I want all of you this time,” Jack says, his voice low and rough. Rhys nods desperately, not trusting his voice, but his blood is singing  _ yes, yes, yes. _ He wants this, more than he realized, and he may have fallen into this by accident but he’ll do what he has to to keep it.

Jack grunts, fingers tightening, and he lifts Rhys’ hand, still twined with his own, and wraps them around Rhys’ dick. Jack uses both of their hands to stroke Rhys, and it’s too much, it’s all too much between the hands on his dick and Jack’s cock heavy and hot inside him and the way Jack is  _ looking _ at him. His breath cuts off in his chest, his eyes locked with Jack’s - as if it’s possible for him to look anywhere else right now - and the  mismatched blue and green are all he sees as he comes.

Jack grunts, brow furrowing and hips stuttering, and Rhys distantly feels Jack spilling inside him. Jack shifts to rest his forehead against Rhys’, and Rhys does close his eyes then. It’s going to be uncomfortable in a minute, as straining muscles protest the positions they’ve been put in, but for now Rhys just breathes deep, filling his lungs with Jack’s familiar scent. 

Jack eventually shifts to the side, and Rhys’ legs twinge as they unfold but he immediately rolls closer to Jack, tucking his head under Jack’s chin. As Jack wraps an arm around him Rhys thinks that this is nothing like an ending.

It looks a lot like a beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at [thirtysixsavefiles](http://thirtysixsavefiles.tumblr.com) on Tumblr!


End file.
